


Verdant Reflection

by Ireg



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, i don't even know man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireg/pseuds/Ireg
Summary: Yuri takes Monika on a visit to her favorite spot for atmosphere.Yurika. Not usually my thing, but this is a gift for someone so ehhhh?





	1. The Calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YurixMonika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YurixMonika/gifts).



> Happy birthday to uh, YuriXMonika the traitor, who killed NatsukiXYuri in their sleep and replaced them. RIP, you magnificent bastard.
> 
> This usually isn't my kinda thing, but I had fun while writing it? If you've read passerby, this is NOT passerby Yuri or Monika. Like, Monika is a completely different character. She doesn't have all the uh... Sociopathic stuff, I guess?
> 
> And Yuri is rich, because.... Idunno man. I needed an excuse to why she had a greenhouse, but I kinda like it? Maybe i'll use it for passerby. Who knows.

To think that this was the same night I have seen so many times before. There’s something so tranquil about this place, about this person. I don’t think i’ve ever felt a night this true in my life.

There are stars, when there are none in my usual sky; twinkling drops of cream wonder sprinkled through the velvet space. There is peace, where there is none in my usual sound; only the idle chatter of nature amongst itself and shallow breaths beside me that match it so perfectly. There is warmth, where there is none in my usual life; despite the sharp chill of february against my skin, fire coils around me from her heat.

As I glance, she almost melds into the inky calm around us. Her rivers of violet and pools of amethyst blend to the shadowed grass, her intricate mystery so ripe for this natural environment. She notice my gaze and smiles, but surely blushes.

M: “Are you sure your sister is okay with us doing this?”

She doesn’t deserve any more questions, any more doubt. But I wouldn’t risk this bond for the life of me: I must be sure in every aspect. Besides, hearing furthermore that urbane, silky melody that blesses every syllable she forms was simply too tantalizing for my fragile heart. 

Y: “Surely. As long as we don’t devolve into brutish ruffians whilst in the area, and preserve its sentimental tranquility- It is ours for the night.”

The verbose vocabulary only seems to deepen the true decadence of her speaking; I don’t think i’ve ever met a soul who speaks such a way not to impress, but as a true expression of her thoughts- far more complex than my pitiful fragments of language.

I smile, with a fair bit more width than her own- seeing if I can provoke the same out of her. She follows, searching with those kind eyes that obscure a pensive whirlwind beneath.

M: “That’s great. I’m glad we’ll be able to visit somewhere so important to you…”

Our destination was a globe greenhouse enclosure tucked on the fray of Yuri’s family estate, populated by arrays of flora- from flowers, to foliage, to fruits. Yuri hasn’t led on her usual descriptive tone about the place quite yet, preferring to have me experience it unabated from prior details.

She hadn’t explored the significance, either. I only knew she wrote poems there, and it held quite the reverence within her family.

Y: “And I am enamored to endow its pure atmosphere upon you. It seems to almost directly enhance poems written within.”

Cresting over another perfectly manicured grassy hill, I glimpsed it from afar. It was surrounded by the barren trees of winter, which only served to further contrast its brilliance. The absence of all light besides the luminant luna above obscured any real visuals, but the comparison between the stark landscape outside and bundles of life within managed to catch my breath regardless.

Y: “My father built it for my mother- She called it her “Think globe”. She’d come here in the dead of night, only faintly roused from the haze of sleep- and route the entire journey in pajamas. My father had to have the path picked for edges, as she refused to put on shoes.”

I laugh softly, but respectfully- considering its her mother.

M: “Sounds like something you would do for the sake of atmosphere.”

Yuri blushes again, but the dark helps to draw all attention to her adorable shy smile.

M: “This is where she wrote. She refused anywhere else, and damned typing to the devil. A bit archaic, but I don’t think anyone would argue with the results of her writing.”

Yuri’s mother was an esteemed writer- (Which was somewhat embarrassing, considered i’d never connected the two) Even a cursory glance at her imagery was delving into an ocean of depth. You could tell Yuri admired her, like she admired her sister, Brigid. As I got to know her, I learned that part of her insecurities are the immeasurable weight of being the youngest daughter of someone like that.

M: “What about today? She still writes, right?”

Y: “...No. She lost any motivation after…”

Yuri stopped, knowing I would fill in the gaps. Every word was like a knife to her heart, and it pained me so deeply to have to bring up memories that twisted her smile into a feature of glum complection.

Yuri’s father had died when she was young: maybe ten or twelve. Her mother took it in stride for a few years, but even being in a place with so many memories of him unraveled her soul like a flimsy sweater. When Yuri was older, she couldn’t bear it any longer and left Yuri to recluse in some corner of Europe, where the atmosphere still sung to her heart, leaving Brigid to return from college to raise Yuri.

That’s the key to Egeria women, I suppose: atmosphere. I find Yuri so enraptured in her surroundings, and any date she sets us on is to some place where my senses are almost overwhelmed from everything that’s happening. These stories of her mother reminded me so much of that- and what I have seen of Brigid is of the same scrying eyes Yuri had, although with a callous spark to them that I could never say about Yuri’s almost feather-light gaze.

We walk in tandem, somehow matching our disparate strides. I’m desperate to quell this silence: to hear that voice again. I can’t believe I brought that up.

M: “I think it's beautiful. It’s…. An honor to write here, with you.”

Y: “...Yeah. In all my searches, I’ve never found a place quite like it.

We approach the entrance, and she takes a small, intricate key from her pocket. It’s carved to appear like thorny vines wrapped around its edges, and a small gap on the end leaves room for elegant, looping handwriting inscribed with Yuri’s name on it. From what I understand, each member of Yuri’s close family has one.   


The globe itself is different panes of perfectly transparent glass, set into a cage of sorts, allowing it to form a more spherical shape. It’s free of any obstructions, save for a small outcropping of a more standard shack that must contain whatever keeps the place sheltered from the grasping hands of cold outside.

She opens the glass door, quickly dipping in to avoid changing the precise climate from the bitterness outside. I follow afterwards with a quick jump, and she softly shuts it behind us.

The difference in atmosphere is staggering. Gone is the howl of wintery winds across the windswept woodland perimeter. Instead, the idle chatter of exotic birds who must have been imported from faraway jungles. The temperature is sweltering; I almost immediately take off my jacket, as well as taking Yuri’s, who started long before I realized exactly how humid it would be compared to the bleak chill outside.

I feel as if i’ve entered a new world. We’re on a narrow path defined by manicured stones imbedded into the mossy undergrowth, with leafy walls on each side. I can hardly make out most of the details in this place, and i’m sure it would be breathtaking during the day; but in a way, I can see why Yuri took me here at night. Although I could view the landscape in all its glory at day, the obscured foliage almost helped to lend itself to a sense of mystery and wonderment that i’m sure the actual sight couldn’t compare to. I was merely speculating, envisioning a deific sight with each piece I caught in the pale moonlight.

I caught the mystifying trickling of a gentle stream amidst the other sounds of the place, which was confirmed as we crossed over a wooden bridge. It was almost as if the architect had lifted it straight from an elven glade in some vivid novel, capturing its pure impossibility into reality.

M: “....Yuri, this is…”

M: “...Beautiful.”

Y: “Oddly enough, most voices seem to dispel the wonderment this setting creates.”

Y: “.... But yours only enhances it.”

She blushes, but i'm enamored: she’s not usually one to be excessive on the gaudy comments of affection.

M: “What are you talking about? Im convinced the only voice that could fit something as tranquil as this place would be yours.”

M: “Honestly, I could see you being the narrator in a nature documentary. You could be the next Morgan Freeman, your voice is so… Good.”

She giggles a bit, then gives me a quizzical look. 

Y: “Good?”

M: “Oh come on, don’t give me crap about my vocabulary! I’m not you.”

M: “If I had the time, I could sit here and pull every obscure word I know out.”

Y: “I wouldn’t like that.”

M: “What? I thought you looooved your words?”

Y: “...Yes, but the one thing I love more than anything else is you.”

Y: “And using words like that wouldn’t be like you.”

M: "Awwww, you….”

I give her a little peck on the check, only furthering the crimson rising in her cheeks.

Eventually, we reach our destination: the center, where her mom wrote everything. Where Yuri came to write poems, sometimes. 

It’s a grassy island separated from the more lush and dense parts of the dome by the clear stream; from here, you can see several other bridges that lead to other entrances or the heating room that makes this place habitable. At the very crest lies a bench, with a smaller table next to it- there’s a drawer, that must surely contain writing implements (Considering she forbade me from bringing any)

Y: “I suppose we’ve arrived….”

Y: “Where do you wish to sit? We could sit on the bench, side by side- Or on the earth, and use clipboards.”

M: “Let’s lay down.”

She gave me that “Are you crazy?” Look again.

Y: “We can’t exactly…. Write… If we lay down.”

M: “Who said I wanted to write? I came here to make poems.”

M: “...And listen to your voice.”

Y: “....I still don’t get it.”

M: “You’re going to make it up on the spot and tell it to me. I always have you read them, anyways.”

It was true: nothing quite compared to hearing the eloquent verbiage in tandem with Yuri’s excellent sense of inflection and pacing, for any reading. I figured that the most romantic thing would probably be laying down, staring up at the stars next to each other- Hearing our poems straight from the heart.

Y: “Well, I… I…”

She stuttered a bit, but smiled and nodded.

Y: “Okay.”

So we both laid right next to each other, gazing up through the caged glass into the twinkling centers of brilliance, taking in the earthy smell of this paradise and the heat of each other’s heart.

M: “I’ll start….”

M: “You’re like a forest- Brilliantly tranquil, solemn and silent; yet immeasurably expressive. That whispering voice from between the trees is like the whispering voice from between your lips…”

M: “It has a sense of natural beauty that no other can accomplish, and its calm detachment from society only helps to make it a respite from everything else.That underlying sense of mystery beneath it all, and it’s depth that almost feels endless means there’s always more I can learn about it. It’s not artificial in any sense of the word: every part about it is genuine.” 

There’s no response for a little bit, but it's fine: just feeling her next to me brings enough fulfillment. I can tell she’s still taking it all in, but i'm a little worried she might not respond. 

Y: “If i’m your forest…. Then you’re my bedrock. My foundation, my earth. Wooded lands cannot exist without the earth beneath them: you hold me down, prevent me from uprooting. You nurture me, and help me grow. There might be endless depth to my forest, but only you could explore it. You’ll know every part of me, in time… And i’ll die with you. Im bound to you, connected to you: I could not leave if I wanted to.”

I just… Take it all in. Every word is punctual and perfect, and I can feel my heart tugging and flowing. Heat rises between us, and i’ve never felt more at ease.

M: “I’m more like the birds that roost in your highest reaches: you make me, and my life- and it would be nothing without you. Without you, i’m lost, and i’ll slowly wither away. I may spend all my life near you, but i’ll never compare on the scale that you do. I’m just content to be with you.

Another pause. It's more poignant this time- I think I can feel our hearts, beating side by side. I’m almost so close that I can hear hear her thoughts.

Y: “Monika…”

Y: “When I was eleven, Brigid roused me in the dead of blackest umbra and nearly dragged me out here.”

Y: “There was almost no speaking- We just… Walked. It’s almost like we were the same person.”

Y: “When we got here, my mother was already writing.”

Y: “We all just sat next to each other…. And wrote.”

Y: “I had this exuberant feeling of pure bliss… I felt truly protected and cared for. It was such a familial love.” 

Y: “I never truly felt that same feeling again. I had mere glimpses, irritating shadows of that moment.”

Y: “....Until now.”

Y: “It’s different… Warmer. I suppose it's more romance than kinship.”

Y: “But right now… I feel like the world could end and I would still be joyous, because i’m here with you.”

….

M: “I love you, Yuri.”

Y: “I love you too.”

The voice of angels flows into beautiful song… I’ve heard it before. We trade off lines perfectly, united as one.

Y: “Thought blows in the wind…”

M: “In the wind….”

Y: “Light shines from the void…”

M: “Light from the void…”

Y: “Dreams awaken out of sleep….”

M: “Dreams out of sleep….”

“Y: Creation twirls in a bright shadow.”

M: “Spirit flows in the wind….”

Y: “Spirit in the wind….”

M: “Light burns in darkness….”

Y: “Light in darkness….”

M: “Truth is born out of dreams…”

Y: "Truth is born….”

M: “All is created out of nothing….”

Y: “All is created….”

M: “Around the new-born world…”

Y: “Wandering spirit flows in the wind…”

M: “Music joins light…”

Y: “All is born from a dream….”

M: “Let it be.”


	2. Fragment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the eldest.

_ Another Shard _

 

_ Another shard of me _

_ It’s not to be. _

_ I cast it aside to the pile. _

_ This one’s still in a denial. _

_ I saw myself in the reflection.  _

_ Another one for the collection. _

_ She said “You’ll burn too.” _

_ “We always do.” _


End file.
